Chapter 8: The Revelation
He-Man’s breath, still ragged from exertion, hitched as her fingertips brushed the lowest rune. It glowed like a fresh brand against his skin. Evil-Lyn watched his face, the awe-struck devotion there, and a deeper, more thrilling curiosity took root.The raw power was intoxicating, but power was rarely simple. It had layers, like an onion, and she wanted to peel back every one.
“These marks,” she murmured, her nail tracing the arc of a symbol that pulsed in time with his heartbeat. “They are bindings.Beautiful bindings. But what are they binding?” Her green eyes, sharp as broken glass, lifted to his.“Show me.”
She didn’t give him a choice. The command was woven into the words themselves, a thread of the castle’s stolen magic sliding into his ear and down into his soul. The violet light in He-Man’s pupils swelled, then fractured. He gasped, a sound of wrenching internal pressure, and the air around him shimmered like a heat haze.The impossible bulk of him seemed to fold in on itself. The monumental shoulders narrowed.The seven-foot frame contracted, not diminishing, but condensing. The flowing blond hair shortened into a practical, sandy sweep. The heroic, square-jawed face softened, the angles becoming younger, more aristocratic, touched by a vulnerability He-Man’s visage could never accommodate. It was Prince Adam who now knelt between her thighs, his body slick with sweat, his expression dazed and exposed.
But one thing remained unchanged, achingly prominent against his leaner stomach: his cock, still thick and rigid, glistening with her fluids.
Evil-Lyn’s laughter was a low, rich thing that echoed in the silent throne room. She leaned forward, her breasts pressing against his scaled harness. “Oh, my sweet prince,” she purred, the title a dark caress.“All that time.All that posturing. Hiding in plain sight.” She captured his mouth in a deep, probing kiss, her tongue claiming the space with proprietary skill. He yielded instantly, a soft moan escaping him as his hands came up to her hips, not to push away, but to hold on.
When she broke the kiss, a silver thread of saliva connected them for a second before snapping.“A secret for a secret,” she whispered. “And now I own them both.”
She stood, the movement fluid, leaving him kneeling on the dais. She snapped her fingers.
From the deepest shadows behind the throne, where the violet light seemed to curdle, a figure detached itself. It was tall, skeletally thin, draped in robes of rotten velvet the color of a bloodstain forgotten in the dark. Its face was a porcelain mask, flawless and empty except for two slits for eyes that leaked a faint, smoky vapor. The Priest of Chaos did not walk; it slithered, the hem of its robe whispering across the obsidian.
“The witness,” Evil-Lyn stated, without looking toward the mound of misery at the foot of the dais.Skeletor had managed to prop himself up on one elbow. His bony jaw hung open, a silent spectator to the unraveling of his world.
The Priest produced a scroll of living shadow, the words upon it swimming like eels.Its voice was the sound of pages burning. “Bindings of flesh.Bindings of soul.Bindings of dominion. Speak the terms.”
Evil-Lyn pulled Adam to his feet.He was unsteady, naked in his revelation. She held his chin, forcing his gaze to hers.“My terms are simple.Your soul to mine. Your strength to my will. Your throne,” she glanced at the obsidian seat, “to our joint keeping.”
Adam’s eyes, a clearer blue than He-Man’s violent violet, swam with confusion and a terrifying, magnetized attraction. The loneliness she had sensed in the hero was a gaping chasm in the prince, and she poured herself into it. “Yes,” he breathed, the word barely a sound.
“And your body,” she added, her thumb stroking his lower lip, “to my pleasure. Whenever, however, I demand it.”
He shuddered, his cock twitching against her thigh.“Yes.”
The Priest intoned words that hurt the ears. It took Adam’s hand, then Evil-Lyn’s, and placed them over the shadow-scroll. A searing cold, then a blistering heat, shot through their veins.Adam cried out. Evil-Lyn threw her head back and inhaled, drawing the twisting magic into herself, feeling the new tether snap taut between their essences. A ring of twisted darkmetal, set with a sliver of Grayskull’s heart-stone, appeared on her finger. A simpler, heavier band of obsidian appeared on his.“It is done,” hissed the Priest, and dissolved into vapor.
Evil-Lyn turned to Skeletor, a final, dismissive flick of her wrist. A portal of swirling midnight ripped open beside him.“Go.Lick your wounds.Or don’t. I no longer care.”
With a final, impotent snarl, Skeletor toppled backward into the void, and it sealed shut behind him.Then it was just them.The throne. The castle.The silent, waiting kingdom.
She led him by his new ring to the royal chambers, a space that had reconfigured itself to her taste. Gold tapestries now depicted scenes of subjugation.The great bed was a landscape of black silk and fur.
“The consummation,” she said, pushing him onto his back on the bed. She straddled him, her leathers gone, her pale skin luminous in the candlelight. She sheathed him in one smooth, brutal descent, making them both gasp. “This is where you swear your real fealty.”
She rode him with a relentless, grinding pace, her nails raking down his chest, leaving pale trails on the prince’s softer skin.“Say it,” she demanded, her cunt squeezing him rhythmically. “Whose are you?”
“Yours!” Adam choked out, his hips arching to meet her.“Again.”
“Yours!Evil-Lyn’s! Fuck, I’m yours!”
She climaxed with a silent, shuddering intensity, her inner muscles milking him, and he followed, his release wrenched from him with a sob.She didn’t stop. Through the night, she took him in every way her cunning could devise—bent over the arm of the throne, against the chilled castle walls, on the floor before the roaring fire. Each time, she drew his seed into her, a dark magic settling deeper into his bones with every pulse he surrendered. By dawn, the corruption was complete, and his fealty was etched into his soul more permanently than any rune.
The next day, from the highest balcony of Grayskull, she addressed Eternia. Prince Adam stood beside her, not in He-Man’s form, but in princely regalia, his eyes glowing with subdued violet light. His hand rested on the Sword of Power, now a dull, obedient gray.
“Your Prince,” Evil-Lyn announced, her voice magically amplified to echo across the plains, “has chosen wisdom.He has wed power. The old ways are done.There will be order. There will be peace.”
She lifted her hand, and dark clouds gathered, blotting the sun.“Our peace.”
Rebellion flared, of course. In the village of Darksmoke, a militia raised rusted swords. Evil-Lyn merely nodded to her consort. Adam closed his eyes, and when they opened, the Hero’s form enveloped him once more—but his eyes were entirely violet, no iris, no white. He descended like a storm.The rebellion was not defeated; it was erased, ground into the mud.
In the weeks that followed, their rule became a perfectly engineered machine.His strength enforced her laws. Her magic quenched dissent before it could spark. They were a united front, a dreadfully beautiful symbiosis.In their chambers, he worshiped her body with a slave’s devotion. In the throne room, he broke her enemies with a conqueror’s might.
Yet, in the deepest watches of the night, when she lay awake watching him sleep, a faint line would appear between her brows. Absolute control was the prize.But prizes, once won, could stagnate. The loneliness in him had been filled with her.What filled the space in her now that every ambition was met?
She ran her ringed finger along his jaw, the heart-stone shimmering. The castle hummed around them, a contented, sated beast. Outside, Eternia held its breath under their iron fist.Everything was hers.Everything.
The thought echoed, looking for a corner that wasn’t already occupied, and finding none.